Hey you, I saw you in the cafe yesterday.
You looked so pretty,
I wanted to be you for a moment.
Tell me, when you stroke a brush,
Do you feel like an artist,
At work on the canvas of your skin?
Or is it a tool to mask those scars,
Over which you have no more control,
Despite your best efforts?
Hey you, strumming on those strings,
The music that this universe holds,
I felt those scars on your hands.
Are you transported into an inner world,
When you play?
Or do you escape from a world
Of inner turmoil?
So, who are you truly?
Are you the person I think you are?
Or are you a mirage constructed
Around a name and face? Who are you?
-Dishna Phukan
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